


Shards of Glass

by adeleade



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Character Study, M/M, Mental Illness, OOF THE EDGE, like kind of a bruh moment on all sides chill out Goro, like this entire fic is Angst, not light-hearted, or like sth similar, self-hate, suicide TW, very mcr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22585891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeleade/pseuds/adeleade
Summary: All his life, Goro Akechi had never been wanted.It was what his mother had told him, ever since he was a child. His father was a terrible man, who had impregnated a terrible woman, who could only give birth to a terrible son. It was why his father had left them before he was born. It was why none of the other kids spoke to him at school. It was why one day, when he was home from school, he found his mother bleeding out on the floor, a knife firmly lodged in her chest.There were two stab wounds, he would later learn. In her haste to forget him, she’d had the will to drag out her knife and impale herself again. That was what the police had thought, at least. But Goro had always seen it differently.One of the wounds was Goro, and the other was his father.It was how he knew that their two fates were forever intertwined together, woven in the canvas of his mother’s heart.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 1
Kudos: 92





	Shards of Glass

All his life, Goro Akechi had never been wanted.

It was what his mother had told him, ever since he was a child. His father was a terrible man, who had impregnated a terrible woman, who could only give birth to a terrible son. It was why his father had left them before he was born. It was why none of the other kids spoke to him at school. It was why one day, when he was home from school, he found his mother bleeding out on the floor, a knife firmly lodged in her chest.

There were two stab wounds, he would later learn. In her haste to forget him, she’d had the will to drag out her knife and impale herself again. That was what the police had thought, at least. But Goro had always seen it differently.

One of the wounds was Goro, and the other was his father.

It was how he knew that their two fates were forever intertwined together, woven in the canvas of his mother’s heart.

  
  


~...~

  
  


The foster homes were Goro’s first challenge. It was do or die, and back then, Goro certainly didn’t want to die.

It was how he`d learnt to charm other people. Every time he met a new pair of parents, he’d have to put on a facade. He had to make them forget he was ever an outsider, ever someone they’d simply agreed to take in, and he had to make  _ himself  _ forget that he was a child unworthy of love, that he was a child damaged beyond repair.

He made sure to be the perfect student, raising his hand in every lesson and getting grades higher than the rest of the class. He also made sure to score the most goals during PE, to read every book he could get his hands on, and to be nothing but kind and friendly, someone everyone could trust and love. Someone nobody could ever hate.

And yet, no matter how kindly and obediently he behaved, he was always passed around. Goro tried harder and harder, believing the lies he’d been fed since he’d first entered the system, but it was no use. He was damaged irrevocably, and everyone could see it. As much as he wanted to become his mask, to leave himself behind, who he really was just seemed to shine through. It seemed there was no love in this world for him.

Which was why at his final foster home, Goro decided he’d had enough. He would no longer try to win their love. Instead, he would win their fear. 

It was obvious that his foster parents had ulterior motives - his foster father was a politician, and Goro was simply a way to gain publicity. But Goro knew something that gave him an edge. After researching tirelessly on the internet, he’d learnt that his foster father had molested many teenagers. And lucky for Goro, he preyed on boys and girls alike. 

From the first day Goro met his new foster parents, he became dead set on charming his new ‘father’. He quickly made a habit of putting his arm on his father’s shoulder, meeting his father’s every ogle with a guilty glance of his own. He made a habit of cycling at the crack of dawn, only coming back when he was drenched with sweat, his tight shorts clinging to his body, leaving little to the imagination. So it was hardly a surprise when one day after work, his father put his hand down Goro’s pants, planting his lips on Goro’s neck.

Just in the view of Goro’s phone, hidden carefully on his bookshelf.

Once the man had stripped his shirt off, Goro grabbed a knife concealed in his pocket and threatened to castrate his foster father. Forcing him out of his room, Goro slammed the door and retrieved the camera. By threatening to upload its footage online, he managed to extort thousands of dollars from his foster parents.

But Goro wasn’t done. Not in the slightest.

He knew how the public was angered by the way politicians exploited their power, knew how mad they were about the incredibly high sexual harassment rates in Japan. And so Goro commented on numerous web pages, increasing public uproar on cases he knew his foster father had participated in, cases he’d recorded dutifully with his camera by following him. It wasn’t so difficult to skew trending pages, not if you were determined enough to create hundreds and hundreds of accounts.

When Goro was done, he uploaded the videos online on his blog, using his other social media accounts to direct attention to the page. Quickly, his posts gained traction, and his foster father was embroiled in one of the largest political scandals of his day. Eager to get a scoop, interviewers snooped around Goro’s blog in an attempt to grab an interview with the fine young man who’d brought these deeds to light.

They didn’t have to look very far. Goro’s name, face and Twitter account were displayed clearly in his blog’s bio.

And he was already following every major news outlet in the country.

Suddenly, he was making appearances on TV shows. Interviews with him hit every widely-consumed magazine or newspaper. Each and every time, he told the same story, how he’d seen the politician watching his dirty videos in a cafe, how he’d recognised the rape victims of several cases in those videos, how his bright smile and easy wit allowed him to copy the files to his thumb drive, and how he’d subsequently shared them all with the public, though he was, of course, scared of legal repercussions. The media lapped up his story, eager to show him as a righteous hero, even crowning him the second coming of the Detective Prince. And soon Goro was making deals to shoot advertisements and participate in cameos, with everyone desperate to cash in on the country’s latest obsession.

With everyone’s attention concentrated upon him, Goro finally felt the love he’d always dreamed of. The cheers of the crowd warmed him. They made him think that redemption was possible, that he might not have to stay broken forever. It was a dangerous thought, of course, but it was also beautiful.

Once, at one of his first foster homes, Goro had accidentally broken a glass window. Immediately, he picked the shattered glass pieces, ignoring the way they pierced his hands, the way they jabbed themselves into his skin. He’d thrown them into the trash, trying to get the fractals out of his hands, wincing as he pulled each and every shard out. He then washed his hands, emptied his piggy bank, and presented the money to his foster parents, hoping that they would forgive him.

They sent him away the day after.

Whenever Goro looked at his scarred palms, he remembered how trying to be kind had never worked. Instead of being given kindness in turn, he had been broken, again and again, left to lick his own wounds. But once he’d decided to serve no one but himself, he’d succeeded beyond belief. 

The scars reminded Goro of how other people could hurt him, how they could destroy him. He would never let that happen again. 

The first thing he bought with his newfound money was a pair of gloves. No one could see his hands, or they would realise that he did not deserve love.

~...~

  
  


Goro knew that he had to solve something again. Something new, something big. The media’s love for him had prevented the police from making an arrest so far, but if the media lost interest, the police wouldn’t hesitate. No such thing had really happened, though Goro didn’t exactly believe in the integrity of the prosecutors. But crimes didn’t just fall into a person’s lap, and Goro was running out of ideas.

So he was delighted to find an app mysteriously installed on his phone. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was a chance. Either some criminal had given it to him, a criminal that he could then expose, or it was some benefactor, presenting him with an opportunity. Either way, it wasn’t something he was going to waste.

When he opened the app, however, he found himself looking at… nothing. Although he did try poking around, it seemed useless - there was nothing more to it than a blank screen. 

But that’s when it happened. Before Goro’s eyes, a mystical creature seemed to take shape. Its skin was an odd assembly of black and white rectangles, each one layered on top of each other like some avant-garde pattern. The creature was vaguely humanoid, but its legs were hooves, and a pair of long, demonic horns stretched forth from its forehead. Its three long ponytails were illuminated with red flame, along with the massive sword in its hands.

_ I am thou, thou art I. _

Somehow, Goro knew that the creature was staring right back. His name was on the tip of Goro’s tongue, just waiting to come forth.

_ Loki. _

Afterwards, the app didn’t seem to do anything, but Goro refused to give up. He used the app everywhere he went, eager to find out what it could do. It was as he was walking beside the National Diet Building when he finally got what he was looking for.

At that moment, he was suddenly wrenched from this world and into another. Goro found himself standing on a rocking ship filled to the brim with people. Everyone was dressed beautifully, either in luxurious gowns that pooled at their feet in cascades or in tailored suits that reeked of class and refinement. It was everything that Goro had dreamed of, back when he was still a young child travelling between foster homes.

_ Where are we? _

_ Your father’s palace. His cognitive world. Think of it as his desires and beliefs given physical form. _

“Hey, you!”

The sudden noise came from a nearby guard. Upon closer examination, Goro realised that there was something off about his face - it was ugly and purple, and somewhat robotic, much like a mask. The mask seemed to melt away as beings shot out of the guard’s body, leaving him on the ground in a crumpled heap.

_ And what in the world is that? _

Goro could sense Loki’s smirk.

_ Prey, and a perfect test subject. Now, Goro, would you like to see what’s known as a psychotic breakdown? _

  
  


~...~

  
  


The psychotic breakdowns were all Goro needed to keep the media on his side. Using them allowed him to both mastermind and solve crimes. His face graced the covers of every magazine at least once a month.

But Goro was getting tired of fame. People kept bothering him on the street, harassing him for a photo, for a signature, for anything. It was flattering at first, but now, it was anything but. In fact, it was almost upsetting. It reminded Goro that no one ever wanted him for him, that everyone wanted something from him. 

Either way, the only Goro they knew was the mask, the ace detective, the one they wanted to know. They didn’t know who he truly was, what hate was festering deep within his heart. And if they ever did find out, they would never approach him again.

Now that a constant supply of money was rolling in, Goro finally began to focus upon a fixation he’d always had but had always avoided - his father.

His father who was supposed to have loved him, but had left him instead.

His father, who had driven his mother to kill herself.

He was one of two stab wounds. Goro would never forgive him, just as he would never forgive himself.

Goro first met Shido at a Big Bang Burger joint. It was at the opening, and as celebrities in their own right, both of them had been invited.

By then, Goro was already fully prepared to impress.

“Your name is Masayoshi Shido. You want to be prime minister. You have hands in the police force, the military, and in politics, of course. But more than that, you have an odd interest in a rather pseudoscientific field, the field that Wakaba Isshiki is pioneering. The field of cognitive psience.”

Shido only raised an eyebrow. “And I assume cognitive psience is how you know all this?”

“Yes,” Goro said with a winning smile. “And I’d like to offer my services.”

In a few weeks, Goro was a new addition to the SIU’s staff. And he had also become Shido’s personal hitman.

~...~

As soon as he’d saved up enough money, Goro bought his own apartment. It was difficult, of course - now that he was completely alone, he needed to pay for his own schooling and daily needs, along with all the clothing and beauty products he used to keep his reputation as the detective prince intact. In some twisted way, his earlier life had already prepared him for that. After all, his foster parents weren’t exactly looking out for his needs. Goro always found a way to scrape by, and this was no exception.

But he was still unused to the crippling loneliness. His classmates and schoolmates found him arrogant and stuck-up simply due to his celebrity status, and many avoided him. The adults, on the other hand, shunned him due to his connection with Shido, wary that offending him would get them fired - or worse. At work, his older colleagues excluded him due to his youth. Even Sae-san, whom the others ostracised for her gender, didn’t seem to care much for him either. And it was plainly obvious that being a hitman would provide Goro with no comfort whatsoever. 

In the past, Goro could go to sleep knowing that someone else was with him, but now, he was completely alone. He wasn’t even hated anymore. Sometimes, it felt as if he barely even existed.

The only time he really felt anything was in his dreams.

Always, the people he killed haunted him, their bodies shielded in shadow, eyes sunken. They stretched their hands forward, reaching after him, eager to drag him into the hell where he belonged. Goro always woke up in a cold sweat, wishing his mother were there to comfort him.

Sometimes, on good nights, he would find his dream self throttling Shido instead. His victims would cheer as the life seeped out of Shido’s body, his hands falling limp. Goro’s bloodied hands would then transform into scaly claws, scales that extended up his body and transformed him into something cold-blooded, something monstrous that was only meant to destroy.

Sometimes, Goro fantasised about the second dream. It reminded him of the sheer, unbridled rage he felt, and ensured he’d never stray from his path towards vengeance.

  
  


~...~

  
  


For a time, everything Goro did felt like a waking dream. His life seemed filled with performances. Performing for his teachers, his colleagues, his fans and his father… even his free time was spent on exercise and on researching popular subject topics. Every moment he spent in private was dedicated to polishing his image and perfecting his performances. If he allowed anyone to see what went on behind the curtain, everything would crumble before him.

He was rather, pathetic, wasn’t he? Buying books about conversation skills and impressing others whilst disguised with a wig and a mask t hide his identity, then changing in a public bathroom once he arrived at his designated train station. Visiting the top museums, restaurants and cafes, just to use them to impress and ease conversations - though of course, he always took pictures for his social media accounts, to share with his oh-so-adoring fans. Though he was trying to take revenge on his father, it seemed he was still under his thumb. After all, try as he might deny it, Goro’s entire life revolved around Shido. His fans were hardly his main motivation any more. Nowadays, Goro just threw everything they gave him away. After all, many of them gave him food, and who knew if any of it was poisoned?

Though that could just be his way of rationalising his otherwise terrible behaviour, couldn’t it?

Or perhaps murdering so many people had just made Goro all the more suspicious of everyone else.

Whatever. He couldn’t possibly be trying to rationalise his terrible behaviour. After all, he already knew he was a horrendous person. It’s almost as if he’d forgotten he was a goddamn serial killer.

It was a funny concept, wasn’t it? Forgetting that he was a serial killer. As if the lives he’d taken weren’t important to him at all. 

That was true though. They weren’t. Goro hadn’t really cared about anyone for a long time. Frankly, he didn’t even care about himself.

It was why this latest case shook him to the very core. The Phantom Thieves had to be traversing the metaverse. It was the only way they could be changing the hearts of others. And if someone else was capable of traversing the metaverse, Shido might not need him anymore.

When he’d first heard of the Phantom Thieves, he was at home watching the television. Immediately, he’d frozen up, his eyes wide. He was trembling slightly too, his grip on the glass in his hand so tight it could have cracked.

Everything he’d worked so hard for, everything he aspired to do threatened to come crashing down. If Shido didn’t need him, he would just be discarded, like a worthless piece of garbage. His revenge would never come. And his life would be over.

Goro gritted his teeth. No, he was still indispensable. The ability to cause psychotic breakdowns - that was his and his alone. No one else was capable of that. Or at least, he hoped so.

Goro didn’t sleep that night. Instead, he began researching the phantom thieves, digging up every nugget of info he could find. The incident with Kamoshida, the thieves’ stupid moral compass, and their even stupider Phansite began to overwhelm his mind. He could think of nothing else. Even if he wanted to, there was no way he could sleep.

So he began writing his script for his interview the day after. The Phantom Thieves were on everyone’s minds, so it was obvious that he’d be asked about them. Who better to ask than the second coming of the detective prince?

~...~

  
  


Goro walked onstage confidently. The stage lights were blinding, and the cheers of his fans drilled a hole into his head, but Goro managed to plaster on a smile regardless. He ran his script through his head one more time. He couldn’t let them see how worked up he was about this case. They could never see who he really was inside.

As one of the interviewers introduced him to the audience, Goro tried to calm himself down, once and for all. This was just another performance, after all. Another challenge he could easily overcome.

“Hello there.” He waved at the audience slightly, in a manner he’d practised hundreds of times before. His demeanour was picture-perfect, his actions immaculate. Hopefully, there’d be gifs of his interview on social media. It would mean he had succeeded.

“Thank you for taking the time to join us today, Akechi-kun. Your popularity is stunning.” The second interviewer, a man, laughed politely. He was so transparent, it made the entire interview feel like a painfully obvious charade. It made Goro sick. 

“Even I found that to be quite a surprise.” Goro scratched his head, looking absentmindedly at the ground. “It is a bit embarrassing though…”

False modesty was an expression he’d practised quite a lot over the years. It had never failed him once.

“Moving on, we’ve been told there’s a case on your mind right now. Care to share, detective?”

Goro smiled. That was a lie. He’d never said anything of the sort. But it was the opportunity he’d been waiting for, regardless.

“Ah, yes. That would be the scandal involving the master artist Madarame.”

“There it is! All of this phantom thief excitement has caught your attention too, Akechi-kun! Allow me to be blunt for just a second. What do you think of these justice-oriented Phantom Thieves?”

I think they’re a threat to me. I think they have the same power as I have, perhaps even more. I think they threaten every plan I have.

But even worse, they might be better people. They try to change others’ hearts without taking lives, without doing anything for their personal gain. Such power would be so easy to misuse, but they haven’t done anything of the sort. It shows just how moral they are. How superior they are, compared to me.

Don’t you know, Mr Interviewer? I am a bastard child. No one has ever wanted me. I was never made for love. But these Phantom Thieves are. They deserve to be here, getting interviewed for their accomplishments. Not me.

But that doesn’t matter. Because I will win.

“If they truly are heroes of justice, I sincerely hope they exist. But hypothetically, if these Phantom Thieves are real, I believe they should be tried in a court of law.”

Everyone but him seemed stunned. The annoying interviewer cleared his throat. “That’s quite the statement. Are they committing crimes? Some people even say that the Thieves are helping their victims abandon their evil ways.”

Goro shook his head. “What the artist Madarame did was truly an unforgivable crime. However, they’re taking the law into their own hands by judging him. It is far from justice.”

They should get off their high horse. They should know how horrible they are. That’s right - they’re just as horrible as I am. All their supposed morality, their justice - that’s all a pretence. If I want to keep this up, I have to believe that. And I will.

“More importantly, you should never forcefully change a person’s heart.”

Even more importantly, though, you should never kill another person.

Goro tried to smile as the interviewer showered him with praise. The only thing they had left to do was conduct their Q and A, but that portion was nothing but a sham. They’d probably choose some random schoolgirl obsessed with him again. And then he’d just have to smile a little, perhaps crack a joke, and he would be free to return to his apartment. And drop the charade.

“All right, let’s try asking this student here. Hypothetically speaking, what are your thoughts on these Phantom Thieves, if they were real?”

“They’re justice itself.”

The boy who’d spoken up wasn’t much to look at. His hair was unruly, like every other high schooler, and his posture was atrocious, to say the least. But his eyes seemed to bore into Goro’s very soul. His gaze was more intense than anything Goro had ever seen. Goro could feel his heart stop.

“You say that with such firmness.” It wasn’t supposed to be some sort of attack. It was simply a statement of fact. Somehow, Goro felt his mask shed away in that very moment. This was a gaze that demanded honesty. Goro wasn’t sure what he had to give. But he knew what he felt. 

Admiration, sickly sweet with the knowledge that Goro could never compare.

Of course, Goro was able to argue his side without much trouble. He hadn’t planned his interview for an entire night just to end up completely unprepared. But despite his victory, the gaze of that other boy still haunted him. Goro wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

Later, after the show, Goro saw the boy standing alone. Once again, he found himself mesmerised by that gaze, and the boy’s beautiful grey eyes.

He had to approach him. He simply had to.

Sadly, Goro simply didn’t have anything to talk about. It was a situation Goro had rarely found himself in, but he couldn’t help but flounder about for something to say. He had no idea why he was talking to this boy, other than an odd fascination he had with him. And, to make things worse, the boy was hardly answering his questions. He didn’t seem to care about Goro at all.

And yet, before Goro left, he’d agreed to meet Goro again. And he’d given Goro his name.

Akira Kurusu, huh? Goro thought about him later, as he lay awake at night. Somehow, he had the distinct feeling that Akira was a member of the Phantom Thieves. And perhaps, even their leader.

  
  


~...~

  
  


After that, Goro had tried his best to devise ways the two could meet. He’d basically stalked Akira, figuring out the average time at which he’d get onto the bus, and then deciding on a few days a week when he could “coincidentally” bump into him.

But it seemed… useless. The two of them were barely able to sustain a conversation, and Goro couldn’t help but feel a slight tinge of regret whenever they parted, as if there was always something he’d left unsaid. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly why Goro was so obsessed with Akira, but eventually, he figured it out. It was because Akira could strip everything away. Akira could look through all the masks he wore, and know him for who he truly was. It was nothing more than a gut feeling, but Goro was confident. Or perhaps he was just desperate.

Either way, it was how Goro found himself standing inside of Cafe Leblanc. He knew by now that Akira lived there, under the guardianship of one Sojiro Sakura. Sometimes, he even worked there as a barista. It did suit his calm, patient temperament. 

Now that he was here, however, Goro saw someone he hadn’t included in his calculations - a girl with long orange hair. When he’d come in, she’d ran behind the counter and hidden behind Akira, who seemed comfortable with her presence. It irked Goro, knowing that there was someone who’d gotten closer to Akira than he had. He’d been trying so hard, yet it was this random girl who’d somehow won Akira’s attention?

“Hello!” Goro flashed his most brilliant smile, hoping Akira, too, would be charmed. As if he hadn’t already resisted so many times before.

“Oh… Welcome,” a balding man behind the counter said, his goatee both ugly and yet oddly magnificent. He had to be Sojiro Sakura.

But he wasn’t important to Goro. Akira was. Catching Akira’s eye, Goro feigned surprise. “Oh! You’re…”

“Huh? You know each other?” Sojiro said. “Wait, you’re…”

“I’m Akechi.” Goro continued fending off Sojiro’s questions, whilst simultaneously staring at Akira from the corner of his eye. There was something strangely charming about the way Akira looked. Perhaps it was his slightly unbuttoned shirt or his rolled-up sleeves, which exposed his rather muscular arms… Goro was almost blushing. He forced himself to look away. The way Akira protected the girl behind him seemed like one of such concern, it was almost endearing.

Jesus Christ. So that was what this obsession was, wasn’t it? Attraction. For a so-called detective prince, Goro truly was a dumbass.

“So, Mr Detective, what brings you here?”

“Right, sorry. How rude of me. I’m here because of Sae-san’s recommendation.”

Sojiro’s smile disappeared, replaced by a sharp snarl. “I already told her everything I know. There’s nothing more I got for you people.”

“O-oh no, that’s not my intention. I just came to enjoy some coffee.” Goro struggled to continue smiling.

After a rather tense conversation, Sojiro went off to the kitchen. Taking a seat by the counter, Goro found himself with only Akira and the young girl (presumably Futaba Sakura) for company. As Goro stared back into Akira’s eyes, he felt something deep within him loosen.

“It seems I’m unwelcome no matter where I go.” The words choked themselves out of him, the loneliness he’d always felt abruptly shown to the world. Why was he telling Akira this? Why was he telling him anything at all?

“That’s surprising,” Akira said. His voice sounded… sincere. All of a sudden, Goro realised what  _ really  _ attracted him to Akira. It wasn’t just his piercing gaze, though that certainly was a part of it. It was also his sincere concern for everything happening around him. It was probably the reason why he was a phantom thief in the first place, after all. Helping people by creating justice. And now, he was turning his attention to Goro, expressing his concern for him. All of a sudden, Goro realised that there was nothing else he wanted more of in the world. 

But… he didn’t deserve it, did he?

“Did I bother you? My apologies. Apparently, my mother was in a relationship with some low-life of a man.” The words flowed out of Goro before he knew what he was doing. “She was swiftly discarded when he learnt she was pregnant. That despair would lead to her death.”

“Thanks to him, I was passed from foster home to foster home. But… I do quite well by myself these days, don’t you think?” Goro could feel tears welling up in his eyes, and struggled to contain them. He was making what was undoubtedly a foolish decision. Was he really so desperate for comfort? So eager for human contact that he would grovel like a dog?

“You aren’t bothering me.” Akira laid a hand on Goro’s shoulder, his gaze just as intense as ever. His eyes were filled with warmth. “Your coffee for today is my treat. Come to the cafe whenever you need someone around, okay?”

Goro bit his lip. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Remember back at the TV station, when you said that you felt a special bond between us?”

Goro winced. “Yes.”

“Well, I feel the same way,” Akira said with a small smile. He then proceeded out back to the kitchen, to help Sojiro with the food preparation.

  
  


~...~ 

  
  


It was a strange feeling, having someone who understood him, someone who valued his company. Goro was used to spending all his time on work, but all of a sudden, he felt compelled to include Leblanc in his routine as well. He  _ had  _ to go at least once a week. Even if it only amounted to a single moment spent with Akira, Goro was satisfied. It wasn’t something he’d admit to anyone, but the other boy’s smiles kept him through the day. Soon, Goro found himself making time for other things too. He began to research things Akira would be interested in, instead of what the adults around him would be interested in. He even began fantasising about Akira in his spare time, thinking of bringing him to all the finest restaurants in Shibuya, or perhaps an amusement park, and seeing his face bright with delight.

It wasn’t exactly a healthy attitude to have towards the leader of the phantom thieves, but Goro couldn’t help himself. No one had ever cared about him before. Not like this.

Most of his conversations with Akira  _ were  _ rather brief - Akira had to go to school and didn’t have as much time for Goro as the latter would have liked. But occasionally, when Akira was helping out at Leblanc, they would start a comfortable conversation, one that instantly put Goro at ease, even more than the coffee in his hand.

Goro usually talked about his day at work, or the latest news, or how school life was treating him. Akira would always nod, his eyes attentively fixed on Goro, a tiny smile on his face that Goro couldn’t get enough of. And when Goro was done, Akira would give him a lesson on coffee and curry.

It was really a sight to behold. Akira moved dexterously around the counters, carefully roasting a customer’s coffee beans as he let a pot of curry stew. All the while, he would relay facts to Goro in that soft, soothing voice, telling him the differences between Kona and Typica beans, and revealing the curry’s many secret ingredients, including honey, yoghurt and apple. It was impossible not to admire his conscientiousness and attention to detail. 

It was even harder not to admire the concern he had for his friends. Whenever any of his friends came over, Akira would give them both a plate of curry and a cup of coffee. They always paid, of course, but it was how Akira cooked that showed how much he cared.

“Ann likes it when there’s more honey in the curry,” Akira had told him once.

“What?”

“Ann Takamaki. My friend. She’s quite a popular model, you know? And she has quite the sweet tooth.” Akira smiled. “So whenever she comes, I add just a bit more honey. It always seems to brighten up her day.”

Over the course of his conversations with Akira, Goro learnt much more about the phantom thieves than he’d learnt over the course of his investigation. Ryuji often had stomach pains, so Akira always added a bit more cumin to the curry. Makoto was partial to a slightly more bitter taste, so Akira added a little more coffee beans. And Yusuke often went hungry, so Akira just made sure to give him a bit more meat.

“How about Futaba?” Goro asked one day. “What does she like in her curry?”

“I have no idea. Sojiro always cooks her curry personally.” Akira smiled. “But that’s not what you really want to know, is it? You want to know what I add to  _ your  _ curry.”

Goro cleared his throat. “That’s not true. But if you want to share, I wouldn’t mind listening.”

“Whatever you say, Mr Detective,” Akira said. “The truth is, I always add more wine to your curry.”

Goro raised an eyebrow. “More wine? Why?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just hope it’ll loosen you up a bit.” Akira shrugged. “You always seem so stressed, though it’s hardly surprising, considering your TV appearances at all.”

“So your solution is that is trying to get me drunk? That’s quite the solution, Kurusu.”

“Perhaps. But I think it works fine. You seem a lot happier, after all. Happy enough to tease me.” Suddenly, Akira’s demeanour changed, growing a little more serious. “By the way, Akechi, could you call me Akira?”

Goro’s eyes widened. “What?”

“It’s just… I want to get closer to you, Akechi. And I think that’d be easier if you called me by my name.” Akira flashed him a smile. It was a little crooked, yet impossibly charming, more charming than anything Goro could ever master, filled with all the innocence and naivete Goro could never have again. “Please.”

Goro felt his heart melt. “Okay… Akira.”

Akira’s grin became impossibly wide, as if he’d just scored a great victory. “Thank you.” 

Days later, when Akira got home, Sojiro passed him a small lunchbox. It was completely transparent, revealing rice covered with a layer of curry.

“Did you make this for me?”

“Read the note kid,” Sojiro rolled his eyes, struggling to conceal his smile. “And let me just say I told you so.”

The note on the box was written in neat handwriting, almost as if it was printed. On it was written the following words:

_ Akira, _

_ I had a day off recently and didn’t quite know what to do. However, everything you’ve told me in the past suddenly came to mind and I couldn’t resist rising to the challenge. So here is a plate of curry I cooked myself. Consider it the first of many future attempts. _

_ Warmest regards, _

_ Goro (feel free to call me by my first name as well) _

_ P.S. I added a bit more wine and apples than the recipes I found online told me to. I added the wine to make you drunk too, of course, and the apples because you seem like you have quite the sweet tooth yourself. I hope you enjoy. _

Akira grinned. “I had a day off recently”? 

A likely story. The boy had probably spent weeks practising, just for this very moment. And as expected, the curry was delicious.

  
  


~...~

  
  


Okumura was dead. 

It had been an odd feeling, watching the boy he knew so well doing things he would never have imagined him doing, dashing around palaces with his friends, his tailcoat flapping in the wind behind him, more stylish than Goro himself. Goro could only beam with pride as he watched Akira solve problem after problem, mystery after mystery. It had been a struggle, trying his best to remain unnoticed, but it was worth it, beyond a doubt.

He was interested in Akira’s other companions too, though certainly less so. Ann was easily recognisable from her countless photoshoots - Goro had seen her smiling face on many a classmate’s lock screen. Makoto’s many actions all seemed reminiscent of her sister, especially the cool-headed way she dealt with things. It was no wonder that the group called her “Queen”.

But Akira’s other companions were… considerably less impressive. The giant talking cat was nothing if not grotesque, and the uncouth-looking boy they called Skull seemed exceedingly foolish. Goro couldn’t help but glare at him as he followed the thieves through the spaceport. Surely it was impossible that a brute like Skull was more worthy of Akira’s company than he was?

But then again, it wasn’t as if Skull had committed murder. Goro usually focused his attention on Akira, but for some reason, in the moments before he shot Okumura, he found himself staring at Haru. Killing a person was something he’d done too many times to count, but he’d never done it in the presence of a loved one. Especially not one who thought she was saving her father, that she would finally get him back. It was her Goro thought of as he watched the conference, barely wincing as Okumura’s bodily fluids spewed forth in an inky black.

He imagined Akira’s face as he learned of Goro’s deeds, how it would twist and contort itself with disgust. Goro imagined begging on his knees, tears in his eyes, as Akira walked away, never to return again. It was what he deserved after all - rejection. No one had never wanted him around, and neither should they.

But another part of him imagined Akira’s forgiveness. He imagined Akira taking him to the rest of the phantom thieves as they resolved to steal  _ his  _ heart, with Akira inviting him to conduct the heist as well, as they did with Futaba, as if he was a victim and never the perpetrator. 

Goro didn’t like to admit it. In fact, he tried his best not to. But the truth was undeniable - his heart was already Akira’s. Goro only feared that he’d stolen Akira’s heart too.

  
  


~...~

  
  


Sometimes, in his darkest moments, Goro wondered how he himself would commit suicide. 

“Depression is hereditary, after all,” he imagined himself saying to a cheering audience. “Unless, of course, my mother wasn’t depressed at all, and I was her only motivation for dying.”

The audience cheered even louder, their giggles and whoops overwhelming the room. Goro could only smile and laugh along with them. He knew, of course, that they weren’t listening. They were never interested in him. They were only interested in spectacle, the idea of a pretty boy detective outsmarting the most dangerous criminals on Earth.

Goro grinned. He’d give them spectacle.

But what would he do after his plans finally succeeded? Would he jump off a cliff? Maybe hang himself? Perhaps he could do it on air too, or via Livestream. His fans would definitely love that.

Or maybe he would stab himself in the chest, like his mother. After all, if depression was hereditary, maybe suicide methods could be too?

But no, that would be too kind. If he killed himself, his fans would remember him as an icon, a symbol of troubled youth. He’d be immortalised forever. He’d finally feel loved, or whatever was closest to it, and that was exactly what he wanted.

No, he could never commit suicide. The worst fate he could have was to grow old and out of relevance, to rot silently as the world passed him by. If he didn’t have fame, no one would want him, and he would be forever left to deal with his loneliness. No one had cared before, and no one ever would.

Or maybe… someone had? Akira’s face flashed in his mind, the way he never smiled when he told a joke, the way he stared at others with such intense concern, the way he always came to talk to Akechi whenever he was in Leblanc. The coffee was delicious, of course, but it was no longer anything but an excuse. Akira was whom he’d come to see, the person he wished he could win over with money, charm or fame, but seemed to be won over without any effort at all. As if Goro himself was enough to be worthy of notice.

Goro blinked tears away, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood. If he ever made a suicide attempt, he would stab himself three times in the chest. Once for his father, another for his mother, and the last one for Akira Kurusu, whose every move brought Goro to his knees.

  
  


~...~

  
  


In the days after Okumura’s death, Goro found himself visiting Leblanc more and more. He’d known that Akira would be on edge, but he hadn’t expected exactly how jumpy the other boy would be, how his eyes seemed perpetually worried, his eyebrows constantly furrowed. 

“Is something wrong?” he finally asked on the third day, his most pleasant smile plastered onto his face. “You’ve seemed a little preoccupied recently. Something on your mind?”

Akira sighed, leaning against the counters in a way that Sojiro always scolded him for. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Goro waited for him to elaborate, but Akira didn’t continue.

“Is there any way I can help? I’ve been told I’m not a bad listener.”

Akira grinned, his eyes a chocolate brown under the cafe’s lights. He leaned down, allowing his eyes to rest level to Goro’s. “Why don’t you try to figure out what’s wrong, Ace Detective? I’ll be happy to receive your…  _ assistance.” _

Goro coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment. “That isn’t very appropriate, Kurusu-san.”

“Kurusu-san, huh? That’s cold.” Akira slumped back into position. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I guess this is the way I try to cope with my problems?”

“It’s fine, Akira. I didn’t feel offended. I was just a little flustered.”

“Is that your way of saying you liked it?” Akira gave Goro a flirtatious wink.

This sent Goro into another coughing fit, eliciting a smirk from the boy he had a crush on. “That… wasn’t my intention. I merely wished to convey my desire to help you.”

Akira nodded. The smile slid from his face. “You know how you sometimes feel way out of your depth? Like there are many things you need to do but you have no idea what you’re doing? But at the same time, the time is ticking away and you just find yourself completely helpless?”

Goro thought of his days in his foster homes. He nodded.

“Yeah, that’s how I feel,” Akira sighed. “Do you have any advice, Goro?”

It was odd, hearing Akira say his name. Goro suddenly found himself sitting at attention, his eyes trained on the other boy, but with his mind completely blank. 

“I… I guess you could just try to do something first? Even if that doesn’t work out, you’ll at least have pulled yourself out of whatever slump you’re in. And your friends are always there for you, you know? Friends like me.” Friends like them.

“That’s… actually really good advice.” Akira smiled. Goro’s heart swelled. “Thanks.” At the same time, he handed Goro a list of notes on the latest curries the detective had given him. Goro couldn’t help but savour the moment as their hands brushed past each other, and the speed at which they jerked away from one another, as if both of them had been shot.

It was such an odd feeling, having to comfort the person he had intentionally hurt in the first place. But Goro tried his best, nonetheless. Akira was the boy he loved, after all, the boy with feathered hair and a heart big enough to save the world.

  
  


~...~

  
  


“Go to hell!” One of the shadows he’d killed had once said to him, tears spilling from his eyes. This one was nothing but a train technician, a blameless fool just unlucky enough to stand in his way. In response, Goro had only smiled.

“I can’t. I’m already there.” Goro had raised his gun to his own head, his hand shaking. “Don’t you understand? My mind is hell. It’s inside me. I will never be able to get out.”

Sometimes, Goro enjoyed shooting himself in the Metaverse. It was never enough to kill him, but the illusion was enough to keep him going.

  
  


~...~

  
  


Goro had long accepted his love for Akira, how much he adored him, how much he wanted him. But it was difficult, sometimes, to convince himself of how unworthy he was. Why a relationship between the two of them would never and should never work. It was why he entered his own name into the meta-nav.

The place didn’t take much time at all either. It was the whole world. And he saw it all as a chessboard.

His palace was like Shido’s. Distortions stretched out as far as the eye could see, with areas of Shibuya cleanly separated into consecutive black and white squares. He looked at the buildings around him, transformed into castles, spires, fortresses, each one donning either a black or a white flag. 

The people in the palace were all dressed in a certain garb. Most people wore white, their clothing reminiscent of pawns. There were a few dressed in black, but they were pawns too. Goro bit his lip. He had to go deeper into his palace.

The centre of his distortion was an enormous fortress that seemed to span across the city, linking his workplace, his various interview stations, and where he received his orders from Shido. Goro travelled slowly into the fortress, the shadows around him simply making way for him. Eventually, he began to observe a few more familiar faces. Sae was a white bishop, standing to one side, staff in hand, and the SIU director was a rook in black.

The first location Goro decided to look at was his apartment. Bracing himself, he opened the door.

Instantly, swarms of shadows burst out in droves. They were monstrous, with bulging yellow eyes and long, scythe-like claws. As he gazed at their faces, Goro realised - they were his victims. All the people that he’d killed before. It was as if all his nightmares had come to life. Biting his lip, Goro walked into the apartment, closing the door behind him. He unsheathed his luminar saber - he would use it for light.

Looking around, Goro found himself standing in a black ooze that coated the floor, sticking to his shoes. Stepping closer to his bed, he found that it had transformed into an open coffin, lined with gold. And above it, the shadows lingered, some with their arms stretched out to touch whoever lay inside, and the others holding the coffin’s lid, waiting to slam it down, sealing the coffin and suffocating their victim. 

The second location Goro decided to look at was Shido’s office. Inside, Goro found Shido dressed as a black king. Above him hung thousands of swords, attached to a mechanism that was connected to the chair he sat in.

Instantly, Goro understood. If Shido even made a single move, he would die, impaled by everything above him.

Goro walked over. He couldn’t contain his delight.

“Hello, Masayoshi,” Goro said, slowly walking behind his father’s chair. Slowly, he pulled out his sword and held it right at Shido’s throat.

“Do you know who I am?” Goro whispered into Shido’s ear. He allowed the blade of his sword to pierce Shido’s skin, drawing just the slightest bit of blood. 

“Answer me!” he shouted. Shido quivered, too afraid to move.

“You… you’re my son,” Shido said, trying his best to stop shaking.

“Am I?” Goro whispered. “Am I really?”

Before Goro left the room, he cut through all the strings in the air with a single Megidola. Then, he tackled a bleeding Shido to the floor, and stabbed him again and again, leaving his entire body covered in gouges. Goro smiled with satisfaction. There was no way anyone could tell that the corpse had belonged to Shido. Not anymore.

The final room Goro visited was his room at his final foster home, where his foster father had tried to rape him. Climbing up the spiral staircase, Goro found himself face to face with, well, himself. His cognitive self was dressed like a king, his long, golden hair tied like a ponytail at the back of his head. The pearl-white armour he wore glimmered, and the crown at the top of his head shone with jewels.

“Welcome,” this Goro said with a smile. “Do you want to see your treasure?”

Goro nodded. Slowly, the white king proceeded down his throne, his hands cupped. When he approached, he opened them, revealing the glass shards jabbed there.

“You’ve always wanted to be loved, but kindness was never the answer,” Goro’s counterpart said softly. “This is proof of that.”

“Thank you.” Goro had known all along that his mind was distorted, but now, he truly knew the extent of it. However, before he could leave, the cognitive version of himself seized his wrist. 

“Wait, there’s somewhere I need to show you first.”

Which was how Goro found himself standing in front of Leblanc. 

“Go in,” cognitive Goro urged. Against his better judgement, Goro did as his shadow asked.

Goro had thought about what he would see. What would Akira be, a white knight? A black knight? Fluctuating between the two colours? Both?

As he walked in, Goro saw a familiar tremor in the air, one that only occurred in a safe room, and the only one Goro had seen in his entire palace. In front of him, at Leblanc’s counter, stood Akira, looking just as perfect as he did in real life. He cocked his head at Goro, a slight smile on his face. “The usual, I suppose?”

The only place Goro had ever felt safe was LeBlanc. The only person Goro had ever felt safe around was Akira.

“Sure,” Goro laughed. It sounded maniacal, even for him. He truly was the most pathetic human being on earth.

  
  


~...~

  
  


Goro thought he knew hell.

He was wrong.

He thought he’d stared hell in the face in his foster homes. He thought that he’d felt the true pain of abandonment, seen the most horrifying things the world could send his way.

So why had this boy made him feel worse than he’d ever felt?

Before this moment, Goro had been able to mask himself. He’d been able to keep his guard up in front of the crowd of excited students. Intimidating the phantom thieves into submission wasn’t too difficult either. It was just after he’d brushed his teeth when he heard a loud knock on his door.

And when he’d opened it, he found Akira, his body shaking with emotion, tears in his eyes.

Even then, he’d tried to plaster a smile onto his face, to hide from the only person who’d really ever known him. “Would you like to come in?”

“No.”

“But it’s awfully cold, isn’t it-”

“Stop trying to shut me up with small talk.” A single tear fell, leaving a wet trail on Akira’s cheek. “I thought you were better than that.”

Goro bit his lip. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Akira shook his head. “Be honest with me, or I’ll leave.”

“I  _ am  _ being honest. I truly have nothing to say to you. It’s not my responsibility if you choose to continue deluding yourself.”

Akira looked at Goro with that piercing gaze of his, this time curdled with pain. “Everything we’ve said to one another, everything we’ve been through. Was that all a lie?”

Goro glanced at his feet. “Yes.”

“That’s not true.”

Goro stayed silent.

“Don’t you love me?” Akira said, his tears falling faster now. “Don’t you love me enough to be honest with me? Don’t you love me enough to care about me?”

Goro looked away.

“G-go home, Kurusu-san. And please try to control yourself. You’re making a scene.”

The two stayed there for a while, shivering in the cold night air. Finally, Akira let out a laugh. It could not have been more empty.

“My apologies for disturbing you, Akechi-san. Please, have a good night.” With that, Akira left, leaving his words echoing in Goro’s head. In the end, no matter how much he loved Akira, it wasn’t enough to heal him. All he could do was to proceed with his plan - and vanquish his father on Akira’s behalf.

  
  


~...~

  
  


Goro walked towards the interrogation room, a small spring in his step. All his plans were finally coming to fruition. The most difficult part of the plan, fooling the Phantom Thieves, was over. Now, he just had to do one final murder - and reap the rewards. After Shido finally had everything he’d ever wanted, Goro would take it all away, brick by brick. And when everything was done, he’d give Shido a knife.

Then he’d ask Shido to stab himself. Twice in the chest.

Goro had always wanted Shido to die in the same way his mother had. If Goro broke Shido so completely, he would probably have no more will to live. Making the man who thought so much of himself end his life by his own hand was the kind of blissful irony that Goro clung onto in his darkest hours. This was one such moment.

Over the past few years, Goro had always assumed the two stab wounds would be for himself and his mother. But now, he had another idea. His mother didn’t deserve that privilege. Instead, he would offer it to Akira, the boy he loved. Through Shido’s suicide, Goro would finally realise their justice. He only hoped it would be enough to excuse his betrayal.

Betrayal? Suddenly, Goro couldn’t help but remember the day that they’d secured the route to Sae’s treasure. After exiting the palace, all of them had been too tired to move, which was why Futaba convinced Boss to let them stay the night. All nine of them had holed up in Akira’s room, even Futaba, who lived a few blocks away.

“Don’t be rude, you stupid Inari!” she’d said when questioned. “Are you trying to leave me out?”

“That wasn’t my intention!”

Goro had tried to tell them he had enough energy to go back home, but they’d insisted on him staying anyway. He knew they didn’t truly like him - he’d seen the shifty glances they gave him, and how they’d all relaxed when he was gone. But still, they seemed to see him as part of the team, and likewise, a part of him never wanted to leave them. 

However, it turned out that sleeping in a room with eight other people was tougher than they’d thought. The room was too warm and far too stuffy for sleep. Eventually, to quell their boredom, Akira and Futaba had started up the attic’s gaming consoles. Together, all of them played Star Forneus and Gambler Goemon deep into the early hours of the morning, even Goro, who’d utterly trounced most of them. Apart from Futaba, who was obviously going to win against everyone she fought, the only person he didn’t win against was Akira.

It wasn’t for lack of trying… or was it? Goro couldn’t tell anymore. All he knew was that he could never bear to end the game when Akira was still smiling at him, when Akira was still saying his name, even if he was cursing Goro under his breath. Their conversation in Goro’s apartment had built a rift between them, but during the game, it was almost as if it had never been there. Laughing with Akira was something Goro would miss forever.

The truth was, as Sae approached, she barely registered in Goro’s mind. He knew it was foolish of him to let his guard down, but he had to concentrate on the task ahead. If he didn’t, he would never be able to go through with it.

  
  


~...~

  
  


It had been a clean shot. The guard lay on the floor, blood seeping from the back of his head. Goro clenched his fist. It was almost over. Now it was just time to kill Akira.

“I owe you for all of this. Thanks.” This role was unlike the kind, charismatic one he usually adopted on camera. It was cold and maniacal, fitting for a killer. He would use this mask as one final mercy to Akira. If Akira believed that this mask was the real him, he would hate Goro, as he should. And he wouldn’t feel guilty that he couldn’t save Goro.

Because that was just the kind of idiot Akira was. He would never give up on Goro til the very end.

Goro continued with that expressionless face of his, pointing his gun at Akira. He continued reciting the lines he’d prepared, the same way he handled all of his interviews. Perhaps they had some use after all. He immersed himself into this new mask of his, trying to fool even himself. If even he himself was convinced, Akira had no reason to think otherwise.

“Have you finally pieced it all together?” Goro grinned, his smile a little too wide, his eyes a little too smug. 

Akira leaned forward, looking at Goro with that piercing gaze of his, as if he’d seen through Goro’s act once again.

“Goro…” he whispered.

“Don’t make it harder than it has to be, Kurusu-san.” Goro kept his gun trained to Akira’s head.

“Goro, please-”

“Just shut up! You know how it’s going to turn out. Don’t you remember what happened it the apartment? I’ll never choose you over anything. Not my mask, not my fans, and certainly not my revenge. So give up, will you?”

Akira stared at him with those same eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Goro looked away as he pulled the trigger. Then, he lifted up the head of Akira’s bleeding body and kissed him gently on the cheek.

  
  


~...~

  
  


“Are you done?” Akira asked.

Goro gritted his teeth. The fight was over. Somehow, he’d actually lost to the phantom thieves. He wasn’t even sure if he had enough energy to stand up.

Perhaps that wasn’t so bad. From the very beginning, the world had already rejected him. Maybe it was finally time for him to listen.

“I know… I’ve had enough.”

Akira walked towards him, his expression blank.

Then he slapped Goro in the face.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“I wasn’t referring to the fight, idiot. I was referring to the mask you’re wearing right now.” Akira rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re still pretending to be someone else, even to the very end. To think even an attempt on my life couldn’t bring us closer.”

Goro couldn’t believe his ears. Of course Akira didn’t mind, of course he was forgiving Goro yet again. Of course he believed in Goro. Didn’t Akira know that Goro would kill him in seconds? Why was he so hopeful? Why did he believe in Goro so much, in a way Goro himself could never? Goro would never understand Akira Kurusu, which was why he loved the phantom thief so much.

“A mask? Says you, Akira? Aren’t you putting up a mask as well? Pretending that my attempt on your life doesn’t bother you?”

Akira flinched, but he held his ground.

“You know what… it actually doesn’t bother me  _ too  _ much. I knew it was coming, after all. Or maybe it’s just because I love you that much.” He flashed Goro a cocky grin.

Stupid.  _ Stupid. _

“Love me? Don’t be ridiculous.”

As Goro continued with his villainous spiel, Akira took out his gun. Then he shot a bullet at Goro. The bullet just grazed his bangs, too close to be unintentional.

“Don’t make a mockery of me!”

“Then don’t make a mockery of  _ me!  _ Just be honest with me for once, can’t you?” Akira asked, suddenly passionate. He held Goro’s gaze, his eyes burning hot as coals. “Do you really want to die here?”

Goro bit his lip. He stayed silent.

Then he felt Akira’s warm grip around his wrist.

“Well, I won’t let you. I don’t care what you want, I’m not allowing it. So just come back with us, alright?”

But then Goro saw Shido’s cognitive version of himself, and it was too late.

~...~

  
  


Goro stood up, back against the wall, the taste of blood still lingering. It might have been pathetic for someone so close to death, but he smiled anyway. This time, he wasn’t doing it for fame, for himself. This time, he was doing it for the boy he loved. The boy who could still be saved. The boy who deserved so much better than Goro.

And yet he’d fallen for the detective anyway. It was selfish for him to think that way, but for Goro, it was the best thing that had happened to him in his life. And since he was dying via heroic sacrifice, it was only fair that he got to be a little selfish.

Goro fixed his gaze on the doppelganger, pointing a gun to his head. So this was how he would finally kill himself. He had to admit, it wasn’t quite as he thought it would be.

When he shot, he only shot once. Once, for Joker.

As he stood there, drifting in and out of consciousness, he suddenly smelled the unmistakable scent of Leblanc’s coffee. The world seemed to melt away, and there he was, sitting at the bar, his cup of coffee in front of him, and Akira, beautiful, wonderful Akira, standing there across from him, his lips curved in a smile. 

Then, Akira leaned forward. Slowly, he took the gloves from Goro’s hands, revealing the other boy’s deep scars. He kissed them softly.

“I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's always so fucking weird to read your old work, but also really fun too.
> 
> Shards of Glass is one of two Persona 5 fanfics I've ever written (my other fanfic is called Lies and Fairy Tales but it's more... comedic). The difference is, this one was written a year ago and has been rotting in my google drive folder ever since.
> 
> I've always liked Goro, not because he's a pretty boy I'm attracted to, but because I find him relatable. I think this shows in the edgy af oof lines in this fic. Admittedly, I probably wasn't in the best mental state at the time, and though I'm better now, I find that I can't summon up the same angst and passion when writing anymore. Well, sucks to suck I guess.
> 
> Either way, this was mostly a vent fic for me in the past, and I'm glad I got it out of my system. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
